


You are not a God

by Inexorablement



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Depressed Harry, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Multi, Possessive Tom Riddle, Rituals, Time Travel, Wandless Magic (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28639383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inexorablement/pseuds/Inexorablement
Summary: Harry was tired. Tired of everything.But when he accidentally ends up in the past, he try his very best to travel back to his future.But maybe he should have stay in 1944...
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

1.

I awake to find no peace of mind  
I said how do you live  
As a fugitive?  
Down here, where I cannot see so clear  
I said what do I know?  
Show me the right way to go  
Spies, Coldplay

________________________

He opened his eyes, and like always, he couldn't see a thing. His glasses weren't on his face. He didn't know where they were. Hell, he didn't even know where he was.

Well, he knew he was on the floor, probably in an obscure corridor that nobody ever visited. His body was slowly starting to ache. The more the memories came back, the more his head throbbed.

As light made its apparition, he could remember everything. The painting, the feeling of falling through space so unlike apparition but strangely so similar at the same time. He remembered the feeling of dying, unable to breathe because of the pressure. The light became brighter, and Harry couldn't see the face of the person approaching him. Was it a man, a woman?  
He didn't know and right now, couldn't find it in him to stand up and focus to see more.  
He couldn't move a muscle, the pain in his head was unbearable, more so than when Voldemort tried intentionally to hurt him through his scar.

So when the person approaching spoke, Harry swiftly fell unconscious.

~~~~~~~~~~

_He was so very tired. Like always, when he came back from the summer holidays, he was nothing but a shell of his school self. If only people actually paid attention to him, they could have seen that Harry wasn't well. That he was far from it._

_Under his smile was a deep depression and if his eyes were twinkling, it wasn't because of happiness but because of the constant pain he was in. He was actually surprised when Dumbledore came the evening before, to help recruit a new professor. Ho, he wasn't surprised by Dumbledore's presence; he was surprised by the lack of acknowledgement._

_How did the man not notice that every time Harry walked, he was ready to pass out? How did he not see the bruise on his palm and up to his neck, barely hidden by his hair? How did he not notice his student's will of dying? No, Harry really couldn't understand the man and so, he didn't try to talk to him about the pain in his chest._   
_The pain, so much worse than the cruciatus. The pain he felt since Sirius died. Instead, he smiled and somehow convinced the professor to come to Hogwarts._

_In the train, he made the foolish mistake of following Malfoy, the task ending with a worsening of his condition. So after his remarkable entry in the great hall, after all the stare had calmed down and he had begun to eat, Harry once again began to think about his future or his lack of, therefore._

_It was because of his thought that he didn't notice the worried glances of Hermione and Ron or saw the blackened hand of the headmaster when he drank a bit of pumpkin juice. As the feast ended, Harry ran to his dormitory, closed his curtain, put on a strong silencing spell and, exhausted because of his injuries, began to sleep._

_Only to be awoken five hours later due to nightmares. They were always guilty. Harry knew he wouldn't sleep anymore. In the darkness surrounding him, he suddenly had an idea._

_He would sneak out to Hogsmead and try to buy more dreamless sleep potions, now that he had access to the wizarding world and his money._   
_Pomfrey couldn't give him more than what he had received for his summer vacation after... after the battle._

_He shuddered. He knew the substance was controlled, but with enough gold, he was sure he could get everything. He put on his uniform, one of his Wesley's jumpers, forgetting his tie and cape in his haste. Out of his trunk, he took his invisibility cloak, the marauder's map, his wand and about one hundred Galleons. Without ten minutes, he was already on the second floor._

_Everything would have been perfect if he hadn't seen on the map the name of one Severus Snape. Slowly because his back hurt so much and made it impossible for him to run, Harry hid in a secret alcove, only visible on the map._

_The alcove was tiny, like his cupboard and Harry probably would have panicked had he noticed. But he didn't notice how narrow it was. He didn't even pay attention to Snape passing._

_His eyes were fixated on a painting. It took the whole left wall of the alcove and with the light coming from his Wand, Harry couldn't see it entirely. It wasn't anything beautiful or original. The painting just showed some kind of corridor, a never-ending corridor._   
_The movements of the painting were hypnotizing, the corridor seeming going forth and forth, the torch never fluttering, always there, in the same organized succession. Unlike every other painting in Hogwarts, this one was free of people and that was what fascinated harry. The peace emanating from the unending corridor called to him, in a way he never had before._

_His hand loosened her grips on the map, the cloak and his wand. Not entirely on his one free will, Harry came closer and closer from the picture. Out of the corner of his eye, with the last ray of light coming from his falling wand, he noticed a date, 1944 and without even noticing, his hand brushed it._

_And the moment his skin made contact with the canvas, his magic sang and he began to fall, fall through the painting, never aware of the change his act would bring to the future._

~~~~~~~~~

He opened his eyes, and like always, he couldn't see a thing. His glasses weren't on his face. He didn't know where they were. But this time, he knew where he was. The smell was a dead getaway: he was in the Hospital Wing. He heard footsteps approaching.

Unprepared to interact with people yet, he closed his eyes again and slowed his breathing to appear asleep. He had a lot of practice to thank the Dursleys for that. "I tell you, Headmaster, it's the first time in my career I see a case like this. Nothing seems to work on his injuries, it's like there is nothing for my magic to act upon. Only a few potions and balms seem to help him and their effects are dramatically diminished." Said an old voice Harry didn't recognize. "It's indeed strange, but look, some of his injuries seem already healed. I think his magic heals him while sleeping, and with enough efficiency to show that it's not the first time. What an interesting young man, to have magic so intuitive...", another voice answered.

He was sure that he knew this voice. He already heard it somewhere. Knowing that these people weren't going to hurt him, Harry opened his eyes.

"Look Mrs Harpey, seems like our guest has awoken." Harry turned his head in the direction of the voice and when he began to scrunch his eyes, delicately, a woman hand put his glasses on his face. Harry could yet see, and what he saw intrigued him.

If he only trusted the ceiling and the smell, he would indeed be in the hospital wing. But the disposition of the bed, the man called Headmaster and the school nurse were totally new to him. He blinked a few times and began to take note of a few other differences. The sheets were rougher than he knew them to be and not as white as before. The potion cabinet was smaller, and he noticed that a few potions he knew were important weren't there, like they never were because the cabinet was full. The School nurse was petite, but her eyes, scrutinizing him like a hawk, made her intimidating. He noticed that her dress was longer, her apron bigger and she was wearing a pair of green gloves. Before he could observe her further, the man talked again, his voice sweet but hard.

"Hello, would you please give us your name?" Harry's eyes jumped from the woman to the man and their eyes locked up. His breath coughed in his throat. He knew this man and had seen him a few times. His chocolate eyes were fixed on the young man before him, and Harry saw like a veil on his pupil, the man probably had trouble seeing. He was old, really old. His face was full of wrinkles and his beard had very little brown left to it.

Yes, Harry did see the man before but he was a bit older and more important, he was dead. Because the last time Harry saw this Headmaster, he was with Dumbledore in his office and the man was a painting. A painting of Armando Dippet. Barely remembering to breathe, Harry opened his mouth and breathed out his name.

"Henry," repeated the Headmaster, uncertain of the pronunciation. Harry once again opened his mouth, to correct him this time but stopped. If he was right, if what he was currently living wasn't a dream or more of a nightmare, he couldn't tell people his real name. So instead of speaking again, he made a vague motion with his head and stayed silent. "Henry, what a peculiar name," commented the School nurse on his right side." is it French?", Unable to formulate a coherent sentence anymore because of the shock he was currently entering, Harry stayed still.

The headmaster talked again but Harry couldn't hear him anymore. Breathing began to be harder, and his hand began trembling. His thoughts were in chaos. It couldn't be right. It couldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible. Black spots swam before him and once again, his consciousness began eluding him.

Something like that wasn't possible. He refused to name what could have happened to him. He refused to acknowledge the fact that he was somewhere different. And when he finally fell unconscious, he still refused to recognize that he was, actually, in a different time.

He was in the past.

_____________________

Well so that the beginning I suppose ^^

Thank you for reading this chapter, I really hope you enjoyed it.  
The next chapters will be longer, I promise ;-) Anyway, I would really like some criticism to know what you think about it because it is the first time I write something like that and would love to know if it's correct.

And as English isn't my mother tongue, if you see anything grammatically incorrect do please tell me ><


	2. II

### 2.

_What do you do when a chapter ends?_

_Do you close the book and never read it again?_

_Where do you go when your story's done?_

_You can be who you were or who you'll become_

Just hold one, Steve Aoki, Louis Tomlinson

__________________________________________________________________________________  
  


The sun was shining through the window. Harry looked at the sunray play with the floating dust, his mind trying to get a grasp on reality. He didn’t have much time. They were going to come back and with them the question he couldn’t yet answer. Because with the new layout of the infirmary, of what he saw on the school ground yesterday and because he finally after weeks had a real night of sleep, he could actually admit the possibility of a trip to the past. He really could be in the past. 

Or he could actually be at st mungos next to Neville's parents, in the Janus ward. Yeah, maybe he had finally cracked and became crazy. 

But if he wasn't, he needed to hear it. He needed a real proof. A tempus could work but spells could be tempered with. He really, really needed to hear it. He… he just couldn't continue the masquerade without someone else living it.

So he needed to create an identity. A totally new one.

He collected his magic and cast a quick tempus. 16 July 1944. Harry looked at the glinting numbers and words.

It doesn't mean anything. He was just the base of his story. That's all. It wasn't sufficient proof of his travel. He needed to hear someone say it. Someone who seemed sincere.

So he furrowed his eyebrows and began forging his new life.

Who was he? His gaze still fixed on the sunray, he thought about it. Who was he really? He should stay close to his real life, it would be easier to remember and he wasn’t a really convincing liar or so his friends said.

He was an orphan. A war orphan and a really depressed child.

The Headmaster probably thought his name was Henry though so he couldn’t change it. And as it could easily be transformed to the french one Henri, a story began to form in his head. He would later thank his primary History teacher, the local library he could sometimes access and the love Hermione possessed for knowledge and for sharing it. But above all, he would thank the correspondence he held with Gabrielle, Fleur's little sister who wrote him in French almost every week since the end of the tournament.

He knew he needed a surname and more importantly, a believable story. Why was he here? How did he come to be here? Why was he in this state?

After what seemed to be an hour but was in fact thirty minutes, Harry had the bases of his new Identity. He thanked God and Hermione for his Muggle Knowledge of the time and hoped that his story was believable.

Let the show begin, he thought darkly, as the headmaster entered the room and spoke.

“Good Morning. Excuse me if I am being rude but I must ask: am I right to assume that you don’t remember much of yesterday and have forgotten what I said to you when you woke up?” Harry coughed slightly and answered.“I am deeply sorry to say that I, indeed, did not hear from you yesterday. “The Headmaster nodded and continued. “Then, I must oblige and repeat myself. I am Sir Armando Dippet, Headmaster of this establishment known around the world as Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry. You were asleep for a week As Headmaster of this school, you must understand that the circumstances of your arrival have me deeply troubled. We are yet on holiday, and nobody knows you. Your arrival was a grand surprise and in this difficult time, we don’t take them very well. I must now ask who you are and how you managed to bypass the wards that protect this school since always and have yet to fail.”

Harry inhaled deeply. It was his cue to know the truth. To know the date. To know the time this headmaster was living in or thought he was. "I'm sorry Sir but could you… could you please just tell me the date please ?" The Headmaster tilted his head but answered. “It's the 16th of July. Now yet if you could…" the headmaster couldn't finish as Harry interrupted him "The year. Please." "1944," said the nurse. His hand clutched the sheet and he blocked his inhalation. He needed to relax. That was it. Fifty-two year and roughly fifty-two days. He had a story to tell them. If he had indeed travelled, the story should hold and protect him. If it was all an act, a sick play he just had lost time and that wasn't yet a problem as he could barely move and wouldn't have been able to escape. 

So he began his tail. “My name is Henri Powell. I don’t remember exactly when everything went wrong. I had planned to use this portkey, left by my father to my mother before his death and that is what I did. Maybe I made a mistake by activating it or my magic was too hectic to make it work correctly. All I remember was this horrible feeling and then, my head hurt a stone floor and I lost consciousness.”

Armando closed his eyes and when he reopened them, Harry could see they were full of questions.“Mister Powell, I know that portkey can be defective and sometimes transport people where they were not meant to be. But for your Portkey to take you here of all places, for your Portkey to bypass centuries-old wards, you must once again excuse me but I find your story quite fantastic.”Harry waited patiently for the end of the discourse. He was prepared. That was one of the big flaws in his plan. He didn’t know how the wards functioned. So with his most surprised and saddened face, he murmured. “Could a sacrifice make this kind of action possible?” The Headmaster's eyes narrowed and before he could answer, Harry continued. “My mother… She searched for me for one long year. And when she found me, it was already the end. She wouldn’t have made it as she wasn’t magical like me. She was so tiny and frail that portkey travel would have killed her… When she found me, I saw her made out of thin hair a necklace. I never saw it before, but she must have always worn it under some kind of invisibility spell because we weren’t authorized anything personal. She took it off with her bloodied hand and gave it to me. She told me the word to activate it and before I did it, I… I saw her take a bullet for me” Harry broke. He remembered the last moments of Sirius, the pain of living with the Dursley and the constant isolation during the holiday and tears began to fall. They weren’t fake, they just weren’t for the story he counted. “She saved my life and then, I said the word and found myself on this bed.”

He couldn’t look at the man. Never had he cried so earnestly before someone. But the tension from his new position and everything caught up with him and it was really too much. Once again, he was unable to breathe but this time, he heard a slight incantation and felt calmer. He raised his head and saw the school nurse with an empty vial in her hand. With a move of his head, he thanked her. She had spelt a calming draught in his stomach. Brilliant. After a few minutes, the Headmaster took the parol. “Mister Powell, I am deeply sorry that my insistence caused you to relive such painful memories. I can only guess how sacrificial magic works and how it could react with Hogwarts. I think that despite your loss, you must understand that it’s probably your mother’s action that saved your life and brought you here. ”I know” answered Harry with a broken voice. ”Mister Powell, I am sorry to insist but I must ask. Where were you? Did Grindelwald take your mother and yourself?” Everything was falling in place.”No sir, the muggle got us. I don’t know what you know about the muggle world today and about the french muggle world where I lived. You see, my mother and I were deported.”

Harry looked at the headmaster and saw incomprehension in his eyes. But he heard the school nurse inhale deeply. “I will explain as you don’t seem to understand what it entails. Because we were different, we were put with other people on a train, to go to another land and work for another government. But saying it like that makes it look almost alright. It would be better if I said that we were kidnapped, deprived of humans rights and exploited. They called these places camps, but between us, we knew what these names meant. These camps were, to put it mildly, disguised slaughterhouses. So Grindelwald didn’t do anything to us.” Harry saw how the headmaster reacted to this news, he saw him share a look with a horrified nurse and the moment his eyes were on Harry once again, Harry knew that his story was believed. 

But he needed to answer all questions before they were posed so he continued. ”When I say we were different, I mean that we didn’t correspond to the norm. With my mother, we did our best to live as muggle, after my father passed away. But with me studying magic, it wasn’t that easy. I don’t know, maybe a neighbour saw me brewing or simply didn’t like us. And so we were denounced to the authorities. Of course, they didn’t find anything incriminating, but the times were tense and they eventually sent us away. I tried to hide ourselves but the months before we were taken were rough and my magic couldn’t do anything more than maintaining me alive and well. That is also why I couldn’t do anything to escape or find my mother during the last year. I know I have a powerful core but the accumulation of injuries, stress, exhaustion and labour made it impossible to do any wandless magic. My wand was taken before I could say Quidditch and even if my father taught me to act without it, I just couldn’t.” Once again Harry trembled. “I really couldn’t do anything to prevent anything. And in the end, the only thing I could find… I could find before mother’s death was our pouch of galleons, in the cabin of the soldier. What a glorious memento!” 

He had already noticed that the map, his wand and invisibility cloak weren’t on his bedside. He could only hope the first two items were hidden behind the last one in the corridor of his arrival. Yeah, with a lot of Potter’s luck, when he left them fall while watching the painting, they stayed close enough to be transported with him. 

Ignoring the last comment, Armando talked again. “I am sorry to insist but I must ask you a few other questions. Do you have any more family left?” Harry shook his head. “Do you have anywhere else to go?” Harry shook his head. “Do you know what to do?” Harry for the third time shook his head. 

He was currently lost. Totally lost. What was the point of creating a new identity if nobody cared, if nobody asked after him and if he had nowhere to go? Harry was completely and utterly alone. Like before Hogwarts. He had no more Burrow to go on Holidays, no more friends to talk to, no more teachers to hate, they weren’t even born yet! If he even was in the past! He still wasn't convinced by his time travel. In the confine of the nontemporal Hogwarts, determining the decades or years was difficult. He would need to travel to know the truth. Again, he could only count on himself. But it was so hard. Why should he fight and continue the masquerade? If he was in the past, he knew he couldn’t mess with time. He knew he couldn’t say where he came from because he would lose what little liberty he had. If it was an act, he also couldn't tell them he knew that it was. Because he could lose something he holds dear, something he couldn't leave behind. 

The one thing Harry couldn’t abandon was his liberty. His free will. He hated to be manipulated. He hated people making decisions for and from him. Liberty was his treasure and he wouldn’t give it up for any price. If he told the truth, unspeakable were going to find him and once again Harry could lose his freedom. The unspeakable probably wouldn’t kill him to preserve the timeline, but what good was it in staying contained, unable to do what he wanted, unable to properly live? No, Harry needed lies, needed to keep up appearances but he was alone and that hit him hard. It hit him so hard that his eyes were unconsciously scanning the potion cabinet for poison. 

Yeah, wasn’t suicide the ultimate act of freedom? To be frank, he thought about it during the last summer, but the face of his friends kept him from falling through this path. But yet he was alone, with no friend to keep him afloat.

Armando asked another question“ I noticed that you seem to have a magical education… may I ask whom you did learn from? And if you’ve already passed your owls or the equivalent from where you lived?” Harry mused for a few seconds then answered. “My father taught me everything. We had a huge library in a bag and he knew a lot of things. I actually already wrote my exam last year but I never received my results… But I’m pretty sure that I could write to them again if given a month to read the materials again.” He paused and the inspiration hit him. “In fact, I would really like to pass them again, do you know to whom I must refer?” Yes, Harry was maybe tired or more likely exhausted, but he didn’t forget that he was really fifty-two years in the past. If, and only if, he wanted to survive, he would need a diploma. 

But a lot of magical theory, wand movements, potions, plants and so on weren’t the same as he knew them. If he was going to stay here, dare he think that if he was going to live here, he would have to be cautious. More potent potions than the one they currently knew could be explained with talents or errors but totally new wand movements were harder to explain. He could probably say that his father taught them like that but it could attire unwanted attention. In all cases, he needed to update on this year magic to blend in. So a month to reread everything was the strict minimum to be able to pass the test correctly. He couldn’t wait a full year to pass them again. 

He didn’t know if he still would be there next year. He needed to think about it. He knew that there were two sessions every year: one in June and a remedial one in August for homeschooled children or Hogwarts students who couldn’t attend the previous one. He could probably take the last one… and maybe, maybe if everything was really just an act, it wouldn't hold that long.

The Headmaster hummed. "I see… It seems that we have a wonderful young man among us, Mrs Harpey. Normally, it would be impossible for you to register this late for the August session, but as Headmaster, I have the authority required to put you on the list. If you can assure me that you are going to write the exam at the best of your capacity, I don’t see why I couldn’t come to your help.” “How delightful this would be, sir! Of course, if I can sit the exam I am going to try my best.” The Headmaster nodded. “ Right. I am going to need a little more information in this case.” Wordlessly but not wandlessly, he conjured a piece of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink. “Do you think you can complete these alone or do you require some help with writing?” Harry flexed his finger, redressed himself and then answered. “It should be fine sir.” He took the parchment, quill and ink and the Nurse put some kind of table above his leg so he could write.

Name of the candidate. Harry wrote Henri James Powell. For his nationality, he hesitated. He couldn’t write English with his accent, knowledge of the language and middle/last name. One of his parents must be English. So he wrote English and to explain his first name, he wrote french too. It could pose a problem later but he wasn’t important yet.

Statue of the participant. Harry wrote half-blood because it matched with the truth and his story. He was surprised by the question but supposed that blood purity was more important in the forties.

Date of birth. Ho. He forgot these details! How inconvenient… with the time travel, his birthday didn’t match anymore. He couldn’t risk changing his age because of spell and identification potion so after two minutes of hard calculation, he found his new birthday. From now on, he would tell that he was born on the 10 June of 1929.

Name of the parents and statue. He named his mother Lilly Fleur and made her a muggle, because of his previous story. She couldn’t have been a witch and be captured like that with him... She could have been a squib but then, he would have needed a wizarding name and he couldn’t risk more holes in his story. A muggle mother was easier to create than a squib one. To respect tradition, his father would wear his middle name: James. He was naturally a Powell. He was also a pureblood because Harry wasn’t a complete moron. He knew he would need a maximum of wizarding blood in his veins to be better accepted.

Name of tutors or school. He put the name of his new father. It would answer questions about his magical education.

Electives presented. Like his own, he chose Defence Against The Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration, Astronomy, Divination and History of Magic.

He then signed the paper and gave it back to the Headmaster. He read it, tapped it with his wand and in a gerb of spark, the paper disappeared. “I will give you your convocation in two days I suppose. The exam takes place in the ministry, the 19th and 20th.” 

Harry smiled. “Thank you very much for all of this sir! Where do you want us to meet for the convocation? I remember my father talking about a place, the leaky cauldron I think… would that be amenable for you?” Armando raised an eyebrow. “How do you mean?” “Sir, I couldn’t possibly impose anymore. I am going to leave the castle soon and I need to look for a place to live.” The headmaster raised his second eyebrow and made a face. “That would not do. Not at all. Tell me, young man, how would you revise without access to a well-furnished library? I don’t know how much there is in your pouch but I can’t in good conscience leave you to use it all on accommodation we could easily offer you!” “Sir?” He said, maintaining a surprised face. Ho, he would seem that Dumbledore gave him the bad habit of manipulating people... “It is to my understanding that you are now an orphan. With the novelty of this status, I can’t leave you fending for yourself in such a difficult time. You don’t even have an orphanage to come back to! No, it wouldn’t do at all! I will ask the house elves to prepare you some rooms and you are going to stay in the castle during the holiday. I will contact people and search what to do about you next year but yet, I insist that you stay at Hogwarts.” 

Another voice joined the Headmaster’s “Yes, you need calm and at least a week of bed rest. I couldn’t possibly leave you to go, it would be against all my oaths.” The nurse added, her eyes shining. “Ho” was all Harry could retort. That was what would be best for him in time like that. Staying could really only be beneficial to him. Hell, he could maybe find a way home. Or was the future really his Home? No, he shouldn’t think like that. Of course, the future with his friends was his home. If not, where was it?

The people before him were compassionate, and they were the rare kind who genuinely seemed to care for his wellbeing. It touched him more than he thought it could. “It’s decided then, you are going to stay here and I will ask the elves to prepare your rooms.”

So for the first time, he hoped it wasn't a play.

After a few other words about a future trip to Diagon alley and a lot of potion ingestion, Armando and Mrs Harpey left him alone. And so Harry relaxed and closed his eyelid. How could he find himself in such a situation? It was so improbable. Why was it always him? Damn, couldn’t he just have a normal year? The enormity of his situation once again caught up with him. He was so tired. He was proud of what he just did. Who could have imagined such a story in this short time? Who could have acted as he did, convince people like him? He was going to need more french for his story but he was somewhat still proud of himself.

But in the back of his mind, the feeling of dread didn’t leave. The sensation of slowly dying inside and the pain in his chest weren’t easier. He still felt like death warmed over. He still wanted… Wanted to stop it all? He didn’t want to die anymore… or so he said to himself. He was tired but this possible trip to the past was a new chance, right? Nobody expected more than good grades from him. Nobody knew him. He could be whoever he wanted to be here. He could also disappear if he wanted to, knowing that nobody was going to chase after him. 

He could do it. Everything was going to be fine. Wasn’t it? And if it wasn't time travel but a trap… he didn't know if he would be able to support life anymore.

_______________________________________

So here come another chapter, I really wanted to do something original and new for Harry's explanation. Grindelwald is overrated!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this his my first fanfiction, so I really hope that you enjoyed reading it^^
> 
> I would really like to read any comments to do better ><


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